


Candid Shots

by Marie_Iliea



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drabble Collection, Epic Bromance, Epic Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2432687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Iliea/pseuds/Marie_Iliea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted drabbles in the AOS universe.  No particular order or character-focus, though expect lots of hurt/comfort and friendship-fics.</p>
<p>Chapters rated in beginning notes, as ratings vary.</p>
<p>CH. 1 -- A young woman begs Kirk to end her life - and when he realizes why, it nearly breaks his heart.<br/>CH. 2 -- Bones does something selfless and foolish, and Spock does something Vulcans just don't do.<br/>CH. 3 -- Spock tracks Kirk down after the Daystrom attack.  What he finds is unsettling.<br/>CH. 4 -- When he sees the final list of those killed by Marcus and Khan, Kirk breaks down - do his friends get to him in time?<br/>CH. 5 -- A strange device has the Enterprise trapped, and the only way to free the ship is for someone to destroy the object -- from the inside, and themselves along with it.<br/>Ch. 6 -- Jim is the only survivor of a Klingon raid of the village of Riverside. Finding healing and shelter in ShiKar, he is eventually adopted by the clan of Surak as the son of Sarek, brother of Spock. Becoming a Vulcan is an experience all its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. May I Die Now?

**Author's Note:**

> Ch. 1 Rating: All audiences.

“Kirk to shuttle one,  where are you?!”

“ETA 40 seconds, Captain,” Sulu replied. “What is your situation?”

“Still under attack!” 

Kirk glanced over his shoulder to see the Nakarii continuing to chase them through the long grass. Running through the dense brush was slowing down the fleeing Starfleet officers, but the natives were used to it, and thus gaining quickly.

Spock ran directly behind and just slightly to the side of the Captain, reining in his greater speed to protect Kirk. The three security officers ran behind  him , doing the same for their First Officer and the other crewmembers.

“I still hate this!” McCoy shouted, and Kirk grinned (just a tiny bit).

“I know you do!” he shouted back.

Phaser fire from above them pulled their gazes to the arriving shuttle. Sulu was the best pilot in the fleet; though it had almost been beyond his skill to get a shuttle through the oddly virulent atmosphere of the planet, he’d still managed to arrive just in time.

The phaser bursts from the shuttle vaporized a large area of the grass and pulled the pursuing Nakarii up short, their leader holding up a hand to halt her warriors. She eyed the craft as it hovered protectively over the landing party and then shouted a command to her people.

They all entered the clearing and dropped to the exposed ground, sitting on their feet with their heads bowed and their hands on their knees, weapons forgotten. Struggling to catch his breath, Kirk looked at the gasping Uhura.

“What did she say?”

“I think she just told them to surrender, Sir,” was the breathless reply. 

“Sound off; anybody hurt?”

Replies of “Negative,” “I’m fine, Jim,” and “Okay here, Captain,” from his friends and simple “No Sir’s” from his security team brought Kirk a relief that made him tremble for just a moment. He looked at his officers and then back at the natives, thinking. “Okay, stand down, but stay alert,” he said after a moment, pulling out his communicator. “Kirk to shuttle one, Sulu, land but keep those phasers on standby.”

“Aye Captain,” came the reply. The shuttle repositioned and then carefully landed, flattening the grass as it came to rest next to the landing party. Two more security officers jumped out, Sulu with them. Through the shuttle viewport a third security officer could be seen hovering by the weapons control board of the shuttle.

“Are you all right, Captain?” Sulu asked. 

“Yeah, we’re good.” A voice speaking words he did not understand brought him around, phaser lifting again slightly. One of the Nakarii was having a passionate argument with the leader; Kirk didn’t know what was being said, but the exchange reminded him vividly of every time he wanted to do something reckless and Spock absolutely didn’t. Gesturing to Uhura, he walked the several yards to where their former pursuers knelt.

The woman looked resigned, but the man appeared to panic at their approach. Lurching to his feet (and making the Enterprise officers train their phasers on him) he planted himself in front of his leader and threw himself at Kirk’s feet. The man’s face was anguished, his eyes begging as they met Kirk’s.

“Vatarai,” he said, his voice breaking. “Vatarai…” From the side Uhura translated.

“He said please, Captain.”

“Please what?”

“I have no idea.”

The woman snapped a command at her subordinate, who drew himself up again very, very slowly, kneeling once more behind her, beside another woman whose eyes were fixed on Kirk. Her gaze was wounded and furious, and the old phrase ‘if looks could kill’ drifted through his mind at the sight.

Haltingly, the leader spoke.

“I may die now?” Kirk was thunderstruck.

“Taa’vik,” the other woman said softly. The leader cast a brief smile over her shoulder at the other, and then spoke again.

“Apology. May I die now?”

“Die? Who said anything about dying? Are you injured?  Bones !” The doctor immediately dropped to the woman’s side and began scanning her. She eyed the tricorder almost curiously, a hint of wariness in the narrowing of her brows.

“Nothing wrong with her that I can tell, Jim,” McCoy said. “No obvious bleeding or anything, but I don’t know much about their biological makeup.”

The woman reached out and gestured to the tricorder with the back of her hand.

“This die?”

“What?” 

Moving slowly, her eyes fixed on Kirk’s, she loosely wrapped her fingers around McCoy’s hand and pulled the edge of the tricorder against her throat. 

“Die now?”

“ Ashta! ” the man said from behind her, his voice bleeding an agony that transcended language. The other woman wrapped an arm around his back, her glare intensifying. 

Suddenly, Kirk got it, and he dropped to his knees as well, pulling the tricorder away from her throat, as Bones was still staring at her in shock.

“We’re not going to kill you,” he said slowly, clearly, hoping she could understand. Uhura translated the message from off on the side. Many of the Nakarii glanced around at each other nervously, and the woman’s face paled dramatically. 

“Vatarai,” she begged. “Please. I die. They live.” Kirk was silent for a moment, trying to understand why she was so intent on dying, and his pause upset her further. She yanked at the collar of her tunic and pulled her braided hair to the side, baring her throat. She even tilted her head to expose herself further.

“We’re not killing you!” He insisted, and she shuddered, her eyes shimmering with the barest hint of tears.

“Please!” She threw her arms out in supplication. “My responsibility. My people. I give all your desire. They live.”

My crew…All I ask is that you spare them. I’ll do anything you want, just please, let them live.

Now Kirk understood, and tear burned behind his eyes as well. Uhura sniffed. The woman must have seen the dismay in his eyes, the continued refusal to end her life, and she turned to those gathered with her.

“Ratak van,” she said sadly. Someone in the small crowd sobbed.

Kirk recognized that too, and the her apology only made the memory that much more vivid.

“Uhura help me,” Kirk said, reaching out and seizing the woman by the shoulders, turning her to face him again. “Vatarai!” he said forcefully. “Listen. Your people will live. We did not come to kill.” She frowned, glancing at Uhura as though she was uncertain she’d understood his words correctly. The translation widened her eyes as she looked at Kirk again. On impulse he removed his rank insignia and held it out to her on an upraised palm. 

“No die? People live? I live?”

“Everyone lives. We wanted friendship, knowledge, trade. Peace. Vatarai?” When the translation came, the woman laughed, then reached out and took the proffered gift. 

“Yes.”

She pulled herself to her feet, fastening her tunic once more and turning to her people. She said something to them which shattered the tension like fragile glass, the shards felt in the hysterical edge to the relieved laughter of some, and the occasional sob of others. The Nakarii rose, looking decidedly friendlier than they had an hour before.

Smiling, the woman looked at the two who’d knelt behind her, the smile on her face not quite covering the pain of the last several minutes in her eyes. She opened her arms, and they both ran into her embrace. The other woman looked over her leader’s shoulder at Kirk, who’d risen to his feet as well.

“My sister,” she said softly through her tears. “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome.”

 

* * *

Hey all!

Starting a bit of a ‘drabble’ series…not sure it’s short enough to be drabble, though. Anyway, these won’t be in any particular order and probably won’t relate to each other at all, they’ll just be little snippets I found in my head.

** If you want any of the full stories, let me know and I’ll put telling that tale on my to-do list!  Feel free to suggest drabble ideas as well. **


	2. I Will Beg, Leonard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 2 Rating: All Audiences

Spock didn’t swear, but the sight before him almost changed that. He suddenly understood McCoy’s irrepressible need to insult the Captain anytime he became hurt as his human side was suddenly inspired to call the man lying before him several uncomplimentary names.

The word he spoke instead carried the weight of all his anger, helplessness, sorrow, and fear.

“Leonard…”

 

* * *

 

Just five minutes earlier the doctor had been fine, if utterly worn out and absolutely at a loss for what to do. The disease running rampant through the ship had already killed more than a hundred of the crew and passengers aboard — and to make matters worse, Kirk, Checkov, and Uhura had caught it. So far maybe a quarter of those afflicted had recovered — or begun to — on their own. Most of the rest hovered in that tiny doorway between life and death. Uhura was one of the first, Checkov the second — but the third group contained just one victim, and of course it had to be the Captain.

“Damnit, Spock, it’s almost like he’s allergic to the damn virus!”

“Is that even possible, Doctor?”

“The hell if I know! He was born in space, during an attack from a ship that came from a different time through a hole in said space! We already know screwed with his eye color — I have no idea what those kind of gravitational and other stresses could actually have done to him! To everyone else this is like a highly fatal form of the Orion flu — to Jim, it’s practically a biochemical attack!”

Spock eyed the distressed McCoy placidly.

“I have the utmost faith in your abilities, Doctor,” he said.

“Spock, the only chance I’ve got is if this compound M’Benga and I came up with works. But I need someone on whom to test it; I’ve tested it in every way I can except on a patient.”

“What is the problem?” Ah, obviously Spock wasn’t unfamiliar with McCoy’s facial expressions.

“It’s kinda like that cure for cancer at the turn of the twenty-first century. Chemotherapy worked to kill cancerous cells, but it killed a lot of healthy ones too. Someone even said that it was like ‘hoping the treatment kills the disease before it kills you.’”

Spock studied him for a moment, and then turned away.

“I will see if any of the crew will volunteer.”

McCoy engaged the privacy lock on the door and enforced that with a medical override as soon as Spock left. Loading a vial of the compound into a hypo he breathed deeply and then injected himself quickly, before he lost his nerve. Trembling, he set the hypo on the desk and then slid to the floor, leaning against one of its legs.

He had a couple minutes before the effects of the compound became irreversable; hence the locks, so Spock couldn’t stop him. Maybe the Vulcan hadn’t been paying attention after all — he’d fallen for it easily, mistaking McCoy’s growing illness as fatigue.

The compound burned through his veins, and from outside he could hear Spock trying to override the locks on the door. He’d do it, soon, but McCoy had bought himself enough time. If this solution didn’t work, all his notes were sitting there on the table, accessible and easy enough for Spock to read. He’d do an autopsy, figure out what went wrong, and try again. Between the two of them, Spock and M’Benga could figure it out.

If it worked, great…but the risk had just been too damn high.

Blessed cold ate through him behind the fire of the treatment, and as it stole him away Spock finally made it through the door. His last sight was the twisted, horrified expression on the First Officer’s face, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, his friendship with the hobgoblin wasn’t entirely one-way.

  

* * *

  

McCoy’s eyes drifted closed just as the door slid open before Spock, and the sight of his friend slumping over caused a knifing sensation in his heart. He bolted to the doctor’s side, noticing the pallor of McCoy’s face and the used hypo on the desk.

He knew what had happened.

He knew why.

He still couldn’t quite believe it.

Trembling, he reached out to check for a pulse, relief throbbing within him in time with the labored heartbeat under his fingers. Shouting for M’Benga he stretched his friend out on the floor, pillowing McCoy’s head on his leg. The other doctor burst in, figuring out what had happened almost as quickly as Spock had. He ran a tricorder over his boss, frowning at what he saw.

“I’ll be right back with a gurney,” he said. Spock shook his head and simply lifted McCoy in his arms, noticing how light the man seemed. How long had he been ill?

As Spock carried him to the one bed left open as a ‘scanning only’ bed (for biobeds were much more detailed than tricorders), McCoy’s head fell against Spock’s neck, the skin of his face touching the greener skin of the Vulcan. Impressions filtered in to Spock’s mind, tiny, fleeting things that he almost couldn’t identify. Pain. Resignation. A desperate struggle…and hope.

He lay the doctor down gently, and as M’Benga turned to the readouts Spock touched his fingers to McCoy’s face.

I will beg, Leonard, he sent through the contact. Please, my friend; do not die.


	3. I Never Wanted This.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 3 Rating: All Audiences

As he left Starfleet Medical, Spock realized something.

He hadn’t seen Jim Kirk since leaving Daystrom earlier. The Captain — Commander, he reminded himself — should have reported for treatment, but Spock had not observed him.

He returned to the building, stopping at the information panel just inside the door.

“Computer, has—” he paused. After the death of Admiral Pike, Kirk had technically been ‘promoted’ to Acting Captain of the Enterprise, but given the circumstances the computer may not have been made aware of the change. “Computer, has crewmember James T. Kirk of the Enterprise reported for medical treatment in the last five hours?”

“Negative.”

“Is his current location known?”

“Negative.”

Spock frowned infinitesimally. Outside of a Starship or Starbase, where sensors weren’t a default requirement, the real-time locations of individuals were not followed and difficult to establish. Were Kirk’s location influenced by official capacity — if he was in a meeting, hearing, or receiving treatment, for examples — the computer would have known through the scheduling programs. The fact that it was unaware of the Commander’s location indicated that Kirk could be almost anywhere.

Spock was uncertain why he found this situation less than optimal; Kirk was no longer his Captain, and thus it was no longer his responsibility to keep track of Kirk’s wellness and whereabouts.

However some part of him, the part that had almost responded to Kirk stating “I’m going to miss you,” drove him to locate the Commander and check on him one more time.

Though evidence pointed to humans having (somewhat) less intense emotions than Vulcans, humans practically radiated their feelings where Vulcans repressed them. Spock could often feel the existence of another’s emotions simply by standing in close proximity, much as he could feel their body heat. In the same way that he couldn’t determine the body temperature of someone by being near them, he couldn’t make out the specific emotions an individual was experiencing without actually touching them.

Thus, it surprised and concerned him when Kirk’s emotional field simply vanished upon discovering Pike’s death. It had flared for a moment as Kirk had seized his friend and cried into the still chest, but suddenly the tears ceased and everything else did too.

When Kirk’s hand had fallen on his shoulder and squeezed it, through his uniform he managed to sense the turmoil in the Commander’s mind. It was as though a pit had opened up within Kirk’s psyche, sucking everything into it and leaving nothing but emptiness behind.

Spock had to admit to himself, at least, that it was a deeply uncomfortable sensation — and as a telepath, he understood that it did not bode well for Kirk’s state of mind.

No one would blame him for checking up on his former Captain, he decided. It was an entirely logical course of action.

Now to find him.

 

Spock’s primary inclination was to check the local bars for the Commander, but the intensity of recent events led him to wonder if Kirk’s usual method of unwinding would currently apply. When the Enterprise had shore leave, Kirk often found somewhere to drink and someone with whom to spend the night — or part of it — but at those times his emotional field typically pulsed with what Spock decided was either frustration or excitement. Perhaps both.

If Kirk sought company when his emotional state was stimulated, then the complete absence of it would most logically bring on a drive to remain alone. Following that conclusion he headed for the Commander’s quarters — partially expecting to find the man with ‘company’ regardless.

A shuddering sigh greeted his ears upon chiming Kirk’s door, and Spock fully expected to be turned away.

“Come in,” he heard instead, the Commander’s voice lacking any inflection whatsoever, something that disturbed Spock more than he was comfortable with. Kirk was a man who vibrated with emotions; the lack of them was greatly unsettling.

When awake, Kirk had two states of motion: as fast as one could possibly go, and a casual stillness that exuded confidence and surety.

What Spock saw upon entering the room was neither, and the half-Vulcan was very nearly alarmed.

“Commander?” he said, slowly approaching the man.

Kirk was sitting on his bed, absolutely and utterly still. It was not the stillness of confidence, nor was it a stillness born of waiting or relaxation. It was a paralyzed stillness, almost death-like, and Spock had never expected to see Kirk in such a state.

The former Captain turned to look at Spock, the movement almost mechanical. Kirk’s vibrant blue eyes were dull, bloodshot, and partially unfocused. The Vulcan had to repress a sudden urge to summon McCoy.

“Can I ask you a really disgustingly horrible question without you strangling me again?” Kirk asked, looking at but obviously not truly seeing Spock.

Taken aback slightly, the Vulcan settled into a chair by the bed, wondering why Kirk would ask such a question. Once adapted to the man’s unusual phrases, styles of address, and general way of doing things, he’d realized that Kirk actually treated him with a sincere respect and…caring, something Spock was greatly unused to. He’d even apologized profusely for his comments about Amanda.

 

_The door chimed and Spock looked up from his attempt at meditation._

_“Come,” he said with a resignation he kept out of his voice._

_When Kirk entered, Spock began to wish — illogical, but still — that he’d refused the other entry._

_“Yes, Captain?” he’d asked, shifting in preparation to stand._

_“No, stay, if you’re comfortable,” Kirk said, waving him back. “May I sit, actually?” He gestured at the space opposite Spock, who nodded once. “I owe you an apology, Spock. I am so sorry for the things I said to you on the bridge. I keep wishing I’d been able to think of any other way, but I didn’t and I’m sorry.” Spock opened his mouth to speak, but Kirk shushed him. “Wait, lemme finish. I know you loved your mom, Spock. It was painfully obvious, and I hope by saying that I didn’t just insult you somehow. I don’t think anyone has ever or will ever love their mother as much as you loved yours, and she must’ve been a truly wonderful person to have something like that. I’m sorry, and I swear I will never say anything like that again. I wish I hadn’t done it once.”_

_Spock sat in silence for a moment, stunned by Kirk’s speech. His reply of ‘apologies are unnecessary and illogical’ died in his throat, and instead he simply said:_

_“Thank you, Captain.”_

 

“I do not anticipate such an event happening again, Commander,” he said finally. Kirk nodded absently.

“Do you ever feel like — think that — your mother died disappointed in you?” Spock’s heart twisted in his side and he flinched mentally. “I’m sorry,” Kirk said hurriedly, actually looking at Spock directly for the first time. “That came out horribly, completely wrong. I didn’t mean—”

“Commander.” Kirk’s rambling ground to an abashed halt. “Perhaps it would be best if you detailed the circumstances surrounding your question to clarify your meaning.”

Silence reigned for a moment.

“Do you know how I ended up in Starfleet?” Kirk asked finally.

“You were recruited by then Captain Pike,” was the reply.

“D’you know how we met?”

“If rumor is to be believed, in an inebriated state you engaged him in a physical confrontation.” Kirk snorted.

“Nah. The fight wasn’t with him. I was hitting on Uhura, she wasn’t interested but I was being persistent. Hendorff was looking for a fight anyway, and I was a great excuse. Ended up with my hands on her chest at one point — don’t freak out, it actually _was_ an accident — leading Mr. Cupcake to seriously hand me my ass. Pike broke it up, sent the cadets off, and was probably going to try and talk to me about the legal ramifications of bar fighting.”

“Am I to assume the conversation did not follow the expected pattern?”

“Yeah. Bartender told him who I was, and he said something to me I’ll never forget.” Kirk’s eyes narrowed on Spock’s, the earlier blankness of expression becoming something intense and agonized. “’Your father was Captain of a Starship for twelve minutes. He saved 800 lives, including your mother's — and yours. I dare you to do better.’”

The silence was suffocating, if such a thing were possible. It pressed in on Spock, and though he wasn’t certain what he should say, he decided he had to say something.

“You were Captain of a Starship for one year, three months, two weeks, and six days. Technically you are Acting Captain once more. You saved those who survived the destruction of Vulcan, as well as the entirety of Earth, resulting in a total superceding eight billion people. I believe you have surpassed your father’s legacy.”

“I never wanted to be Captain over Pike’s dead body,” Kirk said softly, his eyes unfocused again, aimed at the wall behind Spock. “My father died a hero. Pike died because I screwed up, but he was a hero too. If I dropped dead right now—” though he wasn’t looking at Spock anymore, he must’ve sensed the Vulcan’s immediate concern, because he smiled ruefully for a moment, “—don’t worry, I’m not planning on driving off a cliff anytime soon. But if I died, I’d die a screw-up, Spock.

“What causes change?” Kirk continued. The apparent non-sequitur surpized Spock enough that he had no response. Kirk didn’t seem to need one. “There’s got to be something that really truly causes change, permanent change. I never changed; I’m the same dumb shit with a freakishly high IQ that Pike convinced to join Starfleet.”

“You stopped Nero—”

“I did what had to be done. That’s always how I’ve been: if it has to be done, do it; if it can be avoided, avoid it; if it’s meaningless, do it and try to have fun. Pike was right to tell me that I wasn’t ready for the chair, and now I’m not certain if I ever will be. I thought I had a life to be proud of, but I was wrong. I haven’t been living the kind of life that I’d want my dad to see if he were alive. I didn’t even want Pike to see it most of the time!” Kirk’s voice choked slightly. “You know what I’d be doing right now if he weren’t dead, Spock? I’d probably be half-dressed with some chick who fell for century-old pickup lines. I think the only reason why I’m not is because anytime I even think of doing something like that I feel sick.”

The emotional field around Kirk was back, but it felt entirely opposite of how Spock usually sensed others. Typically the emotions repelled him, like magnets put like-ends together; this felt like Kirk’s turmoil was sucking everything around it in and crushing it. Kirk spoke again, the biting words fading into a quiet dismay.

“Pike died disappointed in me. I screwed up, I let him down, I embarrassed and upset and hurt him. But he came back for me. I don’t understand it, Spock. He was disappointed, but he fought tooth and nail to give me a second chance. I failed him, and he still came to my rescue.” The red, weary, agonized eyes of Jim Kirk fixed on the calmer brown ones of his former First Officer. “I think I’ve been changed now. I didn’t change, it changed me. I feel different, and I don’t know how to describe any of it. I thought I was a better man. I wanted to be a better man. I thought Starfleet would force that, would change me for me.” Spock’s heart was racing in reaction to Kirk’s distress, the Vulcan struggling madly to keep his outward appearance impassive as everything the young man was feeling bled copiously from his eyes.

“I never wanted Pike to die for it to happen.”

Spock was beginning to understand the motivation behind Kirk’s ineptly worded question.

“Jim,” he said softly, bracing himself for the still-fresh pain of loss that would come with sharing this particular memory, “Vulcans have a cultural practice known as Kolinar. It is the purging of all emotion, becoming a creature of absolute logic. I once sought to master this practice, but before doing so I approached my mother to make sure that she did not see my actions as a rejection of her or a judgment upon her.” Kirk watched him with curious interest, the emotion a temporary balm over the roiling hurt within him. “She told me something which I will never forget: ‘Whatever you choose to be, you will have a proud mother.’” He paused, hesitating before offering his next thought. “I am certain that Admiral Pike, and your father, were he alive, would have a similar sentiment regarding you.”

Kirk’s mouth worked for a minute, lost for words for the first time since Spock had met him. His gaze wandered around the room, mouth still half-open before he finally looked at Spock again.

“Thanks.”

The simple reply was magnified by the significantly less anguished expression on Kirk’s face. The emotional maelstrom ebbed somewhat, and a very human instinct told Spock that Kirk needed to be alone. Spock inclined his head in reply before rising gracefully.

“Should you have further need of a ‘listening ear,’ I have excellent hearing,” Spock said. At the door he stopped, turning to look at the still-seated Commander/Acting Captain. “And I respectfully suggest that you report to Medical for an examination. It would be most unfortunate if you became unwell.”

Kirk didn’t answer, studying the wall again absently as Spock left. The raging ache he felt had eased somewhat, its strength lessened by the fact that Spock of all people thought Pike and his father would’ve been proud of him. The loss still burned, however, and Kirk was still sitting on the bed, fighting the flames in his heart when Scotty summoned him.

Hurt could be handled later. Khan had to be dealt with now.

 

* * *

_So this one was WAYY too long to count as a drabble, I think, but I hope you liked it anyway. Reminder, if any of these seem really good to you, let me know and I’ll try to expand it into a full story (though I don’t think that would really work with THIS one.)_


	4. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH. 4 RATING: TRIGGER WARNING -- CUTTING. Probably PG-13.

Were he anyone else, tears would have welled up behind his eyes, fallen down his face, pooled around him with the force of his grief.

So many dead.

His responsibility, his fault. He was alive, and they were not. It was too terrible a thing to bear.

He spun the knife around in his fingers, feeling the cool, smooth metal of the blade and the relative warmth of the wrapped handle. This part was new, the hesitation; there had never been so much to atone for all at once.

Running his hand over his bare thigh he quested for the perfect spot to begin —

— and drew the first line.

The blood flowing down his skin formed the pool on the tiles that his tears could not, staining the cold shower floor. He’d turn the sonics on later, remove the evidence, take his personal dermal regenerator to his wounds. No one would know.

Three cuts for every person he’d failed.

One to remember them.

One to punish himself for their loss.

One to punish himself again.

He knew cutting wouldn’t change anything. More than anyone else, he knew it wouldn’t help in the long run. He knew he shouldn’t be doing it, that Starfleet would have a fit if they knew.

But he couldn’t stop. He’d carve their very names into his skin, but he knew there would never be enough room.

His vision blurred, his hand shaking as he marked each off.

Names he knew: Hendorff, Giotto.

Names he didn’t: Lucy O’Brien, K’Tash Va’gna.

Names from the past: Amanda Grayson.

Names he loved, had let down if not yet lost: Nyota, Bones, Scotty, Spock —

Spock. The sticky, red-streaked blade was torn from his grip and sent skittering across the tiles. Large, pale green hands with long fingers covered his naked thighs in a manner that would have been indecent were he not covered in his own blood. Dark eyes and dark hair wavered in front of him, lips moving with words he could not hear. The pool of blood seemed more like a lake, spreading out to stain Spock’s knees where he knelt.

They’re not deep. The First Officer’s eyebrows shot up as though the words had been spoken aloud. I never cut very deep.

Another pair of knees splashed into his blood, another pair of eyes widening at the sight of him. He watched as the new hands attached small metal strips to his hips and knees, the flickering light of a force-bandage sealing his wounds.

So many cuts.

He glanced over at the PADD lying by his side, its screen splashed with blood. Through the congealing fluid he could still see the name flashing at the bottom, the very last name on the list of those lost.

He’d gotten there. He’d finished. Three cuts for every person dead because of him.

There were thousands, and he bled for all of them.

He hadn’t needed to cut deeply, he realized as all the red faded to black. They could’ve been papercuts, and he’d still be lost.

There were just too many.

* * *

 

_Not thinking this is my best one, but I wanted it out of my head._

_Shit hit the fan here, and I’ve only just started being able to put it all back together (which was pretty traumatizing itself.) I do feel bad, but I’ve been working and sleeping pretty much all the time — Skipping meals and everything. :/_

_Life is hard._

_But God is good and fanfiction is fun, right?_


	5. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange device has the Enterprise trapped, and the only way to free the ship is for someone to destroy the device -- from the inside. (All Audiences)

"Captain, I see no way to disable the device except from within it."

"Mr. Spock, any attempt to manipulate the damn thing will result in it blowin' itself up!" Scotty shouted, his brogue thickened with distress.  It galled him that he couldn't figure out a way around the booby-trap hog-tied into the object's components.

"'E's right, Sir; zhe base computer code of zhe dewice is routed to auto-self-destruct when tampered with."

"Damnit, there has GOT to be another way," McCoy fumed, looking at Kirk to pull a brilliant solution out of his ass.

"There is not," Spock said, his blank monotone a condemnation of its own.

Kirk sighed, then pulled himself up straight, meeting Spock's eyes with a resigned expression.  

"Mr. Spock.  As soon as the ship is freed I expect you to continue on to the Kasvirii colony at maximum warp."  He turned toward the turbolift, only to be halted by McCoy's strong hand on his shoulder.

"Jim, what the hell are you doing?"

"Bones, you know as well as I do that every minute we spend trapped here more people are dying on Kasvir IX.  At least three thousand have died since we got stuck by this damn thing!"

"Three-thousand, four-hundred and eighty-seven, if the last known rate of fatality has held, Captain," Spock corrected.

"Jim, you're the  _Captain_ , you can't just waltz off and kill yourself!"  The doctor in McCoy warred with the friend, his turmoil bleeding into the tears of frustration that welled up in his eyes. _  
_

"I will not ask a member of my crew to do this, Bones.  It's my job to take care of all of you, and that's what I'm going to do.  If we had more time, we could figure this out, another way to break free, but we _don't_ , and I'm done arguing about it."

"Captain!" Sulu called as Kirk shook his arm free of McCoy.  "Sir, I volunteer to beam onto the device."

"I would be the better choice, Captain, given my superior strength and advanced computer programming skills," Spock said before Kirk could reply.  The Captain's face collapsed into a tortured look of affection as he listened to his command crew volunteer their lives in a rush, each trying to out-do the others.  Uhura thought herself the most replaceable of the crew; Chekov argued that  _he_ , not Spock, was most qualified to disable the alien object; Carol and Sulu jumped in claiming that  _they_   were the least irreplaceable of the bridge team; Scotty shouted that if he went he might be able to jury-rig a way off the thing before it exploded; Spock returned again to the _logic_ of choosing him; and Bones planted himself right in front of Kirk and told him on no uncertain terms that he'd hypo Kirk into oblivion and beam down himself before letting the Captain die for them --  _again._

 

"I could go."

The small voice came from the back of the bridge, its owner standing in the open door of the turbolift.  No one had noticed her enter, and all of them wished they had.

"I can't let you do that, Kirakash," Kirk said.  The girl cocked her head to the side, gazing at him with pupil-less amethyst eyes.  Her black hair swung against the silver skin of her neck; she'd taken to wearing it in the same ponytail as Uhura wore, and the sight always made the Lieutenant smile.  They'd picked up the teenager several weeks before, having found her adrift in a tiny shuttle, the only survivor of a terrible engineering accident on the science vessel that had been her home.   Her mother was an Aenar, and her father a Betazoid; the combination created not only her unique appearance but a powerful empathic sense that she had not yet learned to control.  Between their sympathy to her plight and the frequent waves of her emotions to which they were exposed, the crew had become quite attached to her.  Even Spock had seemed (in a subdued, Vulcan way) pleased that their sudden mission to Kasvir IX had delayed their intended return to Earth where the girl would have left the ship and been put in foster care. **  
**

Uhura left her post and crossed to the girl, carefully taking the long silver fingers in her hands.

"Honey, we appreciate it, we do, but it's our job to take care of you, not the other way around."

Kirakash leaned forward, her gemstone eyes boring into Uhura's.  

"I am not so young as you think," she said firmly.  "I am thirty-point-one-two-nine-six Terran Solar years of age; though I have not reached physical maturity, I am capable of understanding the situation at hand.  Your emotions consume me; it would be impossible not to comprehend."  She pulled her hands from Uhura's and straightened herself to her full height; another inch and she would reach Chekov's shoulder.  "Now you must understand."

 _Her_ emotions suddenly inundated them; loneliness, fear, sadness, pain, loss.  Uhura sobbed from the intensity of it; Spock trembled, one strong hand gripping the railing of the upper deck so tightly the metal bent.

"Everyone and everything I have ever known is lost," Kirakash said, her voice the only sound able to penetrate the cacophony of feeling.  "Everyone I have ever loved; everyone I have ever hated.  My world is gone; I belong nowhere.  My soul is tainted by the death-cries of my family and my friends; I have no wish to be relocated and left to drown in the feelings of strangers."  The emotions shifted, affection and gratitude bubbling up through the hurt.  "I have grown close to each of you, learned the patterns of your hearts.  I feel your grief at the thought of losing one of your number, and I echo it."  Her emotions faded, drawing back, only the underlying tremors of desperation lingering as she begged; "Do not make me endure more death.  Please."

Sucking in a shuddering breath, McCoy marched over to the girl and folded his arms around her, the father in him appearing suddenly. 

"Like Hell I'm okay with sending you, Kiddo, but I see why you'd wanna go.  When the time comes, I promise I'll knock you so far out your psyche won't know what happened until this is all over."  Kirakash hugged him in return, then leaned back to pat his face gently.

"Would you leave me drugged until you'd left me behind on Earth, then?" she asked sadly.  "You would have to, or I would still feel your pain."  McCoy cleared his through and scrubbed at his face with both hands, staring down at her.

"We'll figure something out."

"Kirakash..." Kirk cleared his throat and approached the girl, McCoy stepping aside as he did.  "Kira.  Your parents put you in that shuttle to save your life; they died trying to protect you...and I can't imagine them being okay with you throwing the life they saved away."

"Did not your father die to save you, Captain Kirk?" she said in reply.  "And did not you die to save your crew in turn?  Was that a waste?  Did you feel as though you threw away the gift he gave you?"  The words were spoken gently, softly, and yet they struck Kirk like blows to his soul.  His face twisted.

"Let her go," he said quietly.  The bridge erupted in protests, but he stilled them with a single hand raised.  "Scotty, take her to the transporter room."

"...Aye Captain," the Scott said heavily.

"Wait."

They turned as Spock neared and knelt before Kirakash, reaching out with one hand, fingers splayed in a meld position.  

"May I?" he asked?  Kirakash nodded, and the fingers connected with her skin, Spock muttering in Vulcan for a moment.  His eyebrows drew down in concentration, and Kira's face melted into a peaceful expression.  "Be not afraid," Spock said.

They broke apart, and amethyst eyes met warm brown.  Kirakash smiled, reaching out with her first two fingers and drawing them down Spock's cheek lightly in the Vulcan equivalent of a child's grateful kiss.  Spock returned the gesture, pressing his first two fingers against her cheek for a moment before withdrawing.  Uhura sniffled, snatching Kirakash into a hug before Spock could get out of the way.  Kira smiled over Uhura's shoulder at the rest of the bridge crew, her affection washing over them in a gentle wave.

Disengaging from Uhura, she walked into the turbolift, waiting for Scotty to join her.

"Thank you for everything," she said as the doors closed.

"You're welcome," Kirk replied for all of them.

* * *

 

"Ready for transport," came Scotty's voice over the com.  Kirk pushed the button to reply, dread heavy in his chest.  

"Energize," he said.  

"Kirakash to Enterprise," they heard a moment later.  "I have successfully boarded the device."  

"Do you see any way to safely disable it?" Kirk asked hopefully, desperately.

"No, Captain."  A pause.  "Spock?"

"I am here," the Vulcan replied stiffly.

"I am not afraid."  Spock's head drooped briefly.

"I am gratified to have been of assistance."

A small laugh, and then another pause.  Then:

"Here goes...."

"Kira, wait--" Kirk cried, not knowing why he did so.  There really was no going back, but some part of him couldn't bear to just let the girl die.

On the viewscreen, the device lit up in a ball of flame before exploding into nothing more than dust.  The force of it rocked the Enterprise, and Spock cried out, landing heavily on his knees.

"Spock!" Several voices cried.  The Vulcan opened his eyes to see Kirk kneeling before him, Uhura beside him with an arm around his shoulders, and McCoy crouching on the other side, tricorder out and whirring away.  The rest of the bridge crew hovered around them, with Scotty appearing from the turbolift a moment later.

"She did it, then," he stated sadly.  "You all right, Mr. Spock?"

"I am, Mr. Scott."

"Like Hell you are," McCoy muttered.

"Spock, you  _screamed_.  What happened?"

"I did not scream, Lieutenant," Spock corrected, allowing his friends to help him to his feet.  "I was merely...briefly overcome by the force of Kirakash's emotions at the moment of her passing."

"Oh."  They looked away from him, dark expressions clouding their faces.

"You misunderstand."  When they looked back at him, he made sure to connect with their eyes, impressing upon them the truth of his words.  "She was not afraid.  She projected a sense of....of peace, and then, in the moment before the connection was severed, she felt...exultant.  There was recognition, understanding...joy.  I am at a loss as to understand why."

"Maybe you felt her soul going home."

They turned as one to look at McCoy with expressions ranging from surprise to outright disbelief.

"I may be just an old country doctor, but I've seen enough to know there's something in the body besides just a body.  If anyone in the universe has a soul, she had one, and I'd like to think what you felt was hers ending up somewhere better -- somewhere home."

"That is utterly illogical, Doctor," Spock said.  McCoy bristled.  "And yet, I find it a perfectly acceptable explanation."  With that, he returned to his seat at the Science station.  

Kirk shifted awkwardly, resisting the urge to scrub at his eyes as they burned slightly.  

"All right, folks, we've got a colony to rescue.  Sulu, maximum warp."

* * *

"See,  _Mama_?" the girl asked, her gemstone eyes turning to meet the no-longer-blind ones of her mother.  

"I see, Child."  Arms wrapped around the girl, and then another pair of arms wrapped around the two from behind.

"We are so proud of you, Daughter," a deeper voice said.

Kirakash turned in her parents arms to embrace them, then pushed away again with a giggle, her voice trilling as her body dissolved.  Surrounding her were those she loved, and with them she needed no physical form.  From here -- wherever here was -- she could be with her family, her friends...and keep an eye on her yet-living friends as well.  The emotions of sadness and loss emanating from those on the Enterprise were muted, able to be reached but unable to harm her.  They would heal, she knew, and one day she would greet them again.

She was happy.

* * *

_Sorry about this.  Just sorry.  I know it's bad, and it probably makes absolutely no sense, but I needed to write something feel-good about death, if that makes any sense at all.  Maybe someday I'll make it longer, so that there's an actual plot to it instead of just a scene-ish-thing._

_Still working on Vulcan Justice, I promise.  It's just hard right now; My grandmother's got about 2 weeks left, according to doctors, and I'm having trouble staying awake, let alone getting anything done, because I'm not sure how to handle that._

 


	6. All That is Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is the only survivor of a Klingon raid of the village of Riverside. Finding healing and shelter in ShiKar, he is eventually adopted by the clan of Surak as the son of Sarek, brother of Spock.
> 
> Becoming a Vulcan is an experience all its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Pg-13 for...creepy rituals with knives.  
> Assume here that the requisite planets of Earth, Vulcan, and Qo'nos are all countries on the same planet/continent, with Riverside and ShiKar being near each other along a border. Also, these Vulcans are a bit on the pre-reform side.

The  _van-kal_  would make him  _rushansu_ , take him from his battered, damaged Human shell and return him as a Vulcan, place his  _tam'a_  within a new body, give him a  _katra_  to pass on after his death.  It would not replace the family he lost, the friends, the home destroyed, could never remove the memories of death and destruction -- but it would remake him, give him a home in this clan, make him brother to the quiet, unassuming soul that saved him from the Klingons and convinced him that his existence should not be lightly thrown away.

_"You could die," Spock told Jim as he dressed in the ceremonial robe, struggling to wrap the knee-length fabric over his broken body, right arm withered and barely moving._

_"Little would be lost."_

Music danced around him, winding its way through the leaping flames. Within the circle, there was nothing but heat, sound, the flash of silver metal.

_Spock approached, taking the cloth and pulling it over Jim's shoulder, fastening it with the triple-bar brooch that symbolized the House and clan of  Surak._

_"I had thought you beyond such dark thoughts, Sa-kai t'zaled" The Vulcan looked slightly down, meeting the blue eyes that reached nearly as high as his own. They clouded._

Something cool spread along his wrists, up over his arm, stopping at one elbow, continuing to the numb shoulder on the other side. He felt a similar chill on his legs, stopping just above the knee. The flames warmed him again, but no longer did he burn.

_"I have dark days, Brother-of-my-heart." Jim waved his good hand at his mangled arm, the burn scars marring the tanned skin of his legs._

_"Sa-kai t'zaled now; Sa-kai svi'yeht'es, Sa-kai fayei'khaf once this is done." Spock curled two fingers gently against the warmer cheekbone of his companion, leaning just slightly so their foreheads touched, letting all the respect and affection he held for the other flow through the contact._

_" I **f**  this is done."  Anxiety swirled around Spock's fingers, prickled the skin of his face._

The flash became a flicker, closer, larger, resolving into a blade only as long as a finger, but edged so fine only the dancing flames revealed it. Long, cold fingers stretched over his face, pressing into his cheek, his chin, a voice whispering peace, a mind skating along his own.

_"Kir-alep has never rejected one who shares a deep bond with a clan-member, one who is already taken into the House. My father claims you as sa-fu, I claim you as sa-kai."_

Pain spiked where the chill had covered him; sharp, mobile, but muted, warmed by the fires.  He turned his head, watching the pale, slender hand that carved deep wounds into his skin, intricate patterns of ancient words engraved deeply, careful to split skin, draw blood, cut vein, without damaging the muscle and tendons running alongside.

_"You know the heart of Mother, have earned the respect and trust of my father; you feel now the depth of my own regard for you.  I myself will perform the van-kal-khaf.  My hand will drain the red from your veins and renew your life with the green that flows in mine."_

Black eyes sparked with orange flame, the small blade piercing every scar from the top of his face to the bottom of his foot, tracing a shape in each, the same curved design over and again.

_Spock drew his head back, pressing his resolve into his heart-brother's skin, dragging his fingers down Jim's pitted cheek, over the jagged flaws in his collarbone, along the destroyed right limb, stretching his hand along the other's and pulling it up in a modified el'ru'esta, fingers curling around the edge of Jim's palm to hold his nerveless hand up in the familial embrace._

Spots came and went in his vision, growing bigger and bolder as his heart pulsed sluggishly in his chest, each beat painful, pressured, coming with more space between it and the next than it and the one before.

_"_ _If your tam'a is sent on, mine will follow as my blood is inked into your skin."_

 A green-tinged arm raised before his blotched gaze, near-invisible knife held to it, the circles and bars pressed into each scar now mimicked on the carver's skin.  His damaged arm was raised, held by another, soaked in black-red and swirled with ancient designs. The bleeding green wrist crossed with his own, palm touching palm, and their bloods met, blended, burned as one.

_"Kir-alep only denies the unworthy. For all you have done since you came to us, shattered and broken though you have been, you are worthy. The child whose life you saved, the sacrifices you make, the selfishness you show by contributing to our clan in every way your body will allow -- if you are not worthy, none are, not even those given our blood in birth."_

The music roared.

Perhaps it was the fire.

Perhaps it was the pain.

He wailed in agony, feeling himself torn, sheared away from himself,  _removed_. 

Detachment. Emptiness. Sensing nothing, being nothing.

_Alone._

_No._

Something was connecting to him, or him to something. Warm, living hands with long fingers, many of them, smoothing something over him, stinging in places that felt open and raw.  Cool liquid, sweet but savory, like tea steeped in a strange wine. The touch of a hand wrapped firmly around his, wrist to wrist, warm, love and loyalty and exhaustion racing between them.

Drip

Drip

Drip

Slow, hot, uneven. Something was falling on him, plinking near the join of himself to the other. The weariness was becoming pain, the pain grief. 

Time was passing. What was time?

_He is not returning. There is no life._

What is life?

_No....no. I do not accept that._

_You must._

The other did not let go.

More of 'time' passed.

_I feel as though I have murdered him._

_This was his choice. Kir-alep's choice. You did not take his life from him. Your hand was merely a tool._

Less time. More dripping.  Tears? Perhaps, yes.

Keening.  Sorrow.

_If there is no katra to give him, no body for his tam'a, take mine._

_I do not understand why I was not taken with him._

It is warm, here. Not burning, no flames. Warm, though. Wrist against wrist. Hand pressed into hand. Thought gently seeking anguished thought.

_Do you see it?_

_His ears._

_His fingers._

_His skin._

**_His blood._ **

Flurry of voices, of sounds, movement, of arms pulling him up into a strong embrace, tears falling on his neck, the race of joy springing between his mind and Spock's, for it was Spock holding him, exultation in every breath.

Jim hugged him back, dropping his head onto the Vulcan's shoulder -- and realized.

He had _both_ arms wrapped around the other.

The skin on his legs no longer felt crinkled, itchy, stretched too tight.

His hearing was sharper, his senses heightened, his body full of more energy than he'd felt in months, years.

And Spock was  _warm._

He drew back, looking at himself. His green-tinged hands, both long-fingered and moving freely with his will. His legs, smooth and unblemished. His arm, strong-sinewed and without scar of any kind.

His skin covered in black, swirling tattoos of ancient words, sacred designs, and a circular etching that perfectly matched the one on Spock's wrist.

"Sa-kai t'zaled," he breathed. "I--"

"No." Spock halted him, hand raised eyes bright, Sarek and T'amanda watching them with pride. "Sa-kai  _fayei'kaf._  Sa-kai svi'yet'es."  He pulled Jim off the ceremonial slab, drew him out of the dormant fire-ring, turned him to face the rest of the clan, hands firmly settled on the shoulders of the other Vulcan.

"Sa-kai."

 

 

 

van-kal = ceremony

rushansu = convert

tam'a = life-force/consciousness

Sa-Kai = brother

sa-kai t'zaled = brother of my heart

sa-kai svi'yet'es = brother in truth

sa-kai fayei'khaf = brother by blood

Kir-alep = goddess of peace and acceptance

sa-fu = son

el'ru'esta = hand embrace, used between family members

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is intended to end up (with the appropriate character alterations) in my personal novel, but I realized it could work SO WELL for these guys, and I might get some good feedback on it. Or bad.  
> Vulcan words taken from VLD.  
> I'm back for a minute, maybe more soon. Been a lot of changes in my life since I last wrote...I can't believe it's been so long.


End file.
